


you pulled me out in time

by chininja



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Detective!Jon, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Medical Examiner!Sansa, Police AU, and Jon is a big ABBA stan, no smut guys, there is some kissing though?, tw: mentions of past abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-22
Updated: 2018-06-22
Packaged: 2019-05-26 21:00:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15009359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chininja/pseuds/chininja
Summary: “So you sought after the dead when the living was being an ass?”Sansa’s response gets Jon to laugh bitterly, a twist on what he said years ago at his mom’s funeral. “Hey, at least the dead can’t hurt you.”--Jon is a cop and Sansa helps him solve cases through forensics and ~science~.Title from Sway by Bic Runga.





	you pulled me out in time

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is brought to you by many nights binge watching cop shows - Brooklyn 99 and Rizzoli & Isles. But it's influenced more by the latter mentioned TV show.
> 
> This was fun, but also, I've never written this much before. lol Hope you guys enjoy!

They were in the middle of working a case when Mormont tells them they have a new medical examiner arriving today. “What happened to Dr. Targaryen, Captain?” Tormund asks, mouth full of egg fried rice from the Chinese take-out they frequent. “Retiring,” their Commanding Officer grumbles. Mormont and Dr. Targaryen started in the force almost a year apart, been friends since before any of the squad’s parents thought of conceiving them. “Says he’s gotten too old to be working on dead people. The silence in the lab has gotten deafening. If you ask me, the old fart just wants to go to Hawaii and drink some cocktails.” The bitterness in Mormont’s voice was practically tangible, the rest of the squad had a hard time masking their amusement.

“Do we know who’s replacing him?” Sam quips from his desk. The slight down turning of his mouth an indication of his disappointment. He admired the doctor a lot, looks at the kindly doctor like he hung the moon. Jon thinks that Dr. Targaryen’s saw Sam’s awestruck face even through his bad eyesight. “It’s a girl,” Mormont finally replies. “Snow may have known her. Her file says she grew up in Portland.” The information captures Jon’s attention right away, and he starts wracking his brain for a doctor he might know from back home and comes up short. _Unless it’s –_ Jon shakes his head. _Could it?_

“Hey Captain, what’d you say her name was?” His heart starts pounding, the thought of her alone being in the same building as him is giving him palpitations. “Is it Sansa Stark?”

The _ding_ of an elevator and a clacking of heels gave him his answer.

“That should be her now.” Mormont receives her by the door. He tells her something they all can’t quite hear, but judging from the smile that’s crinkling the sides of her eyes, she’s found it amusing.

“Good morning everyone,” her voice was just as he remembered – soft, crystal clear. Her hair is as fiery as the last time he saw her, but not so long now, just long enough to reach her shoulders. Jon sees her scan the room, taking in each person from the squad, and stopping on him. He sees the recognition settle on her face, and tightness curls in his gut. She gives him a small smile before she introduces herself.

“I’m Dr. Sansa Stark, your new Chief Medical Examiner. I’m pleased to be working with all of you.” When her eyes stop at him again, he swears he feels like a lame boy with a crush all over again.

 _Damn_.

.

.

.

“What do you mean you don’t like ABBA?” Jon’s outrage has Sansa throwing her head back and releasing an _honest to God,_ full-bellied laughter with a snort she tries to keep from coming out. It’s not the giggles she gives everyone else when she tries to charm them. And Jon has always prided himself in being one of the few outside her family to be able to do so.

They were taking a study break, the both of them. She was pre-med and he was in criminology. Ever since he was old enough to see _The Godfather_ , Jon’s interest for organized crime began. Not to become a mobster, but he so does admire the ruthless sophistication that comes with it.

“What, what is so wrong with ABBA?” He asks her with a laugh. 

“Everything!” Sansa replies, still laughing. “The cheesy songs, the costumes, the dance! It’s so quintessential of the _bad_ part of the 70s!” Her laughter has died down but the humor is still staining her cheeks. She takes a spoonful of her frozen yogurt when she feels safe enough to not snort it out mid-laugh. Yogurt out through the nose? So not attractive, but also, quite painful.

“Okay, I’ll give you that. But, you have to agree that they are very catchy.” Jon takes a deep breath and Sansa knows he’s about to start singing. So she does what any sane twenty-one year old would do – she clamps a hand rather forcefully over his mouth. “Jon Snow, you stop yourself from singing or so help me, I will hide all your Criminal Law notes where you will never find them!” She squeals and pulls her hand away immediately when she feels his tongue flick at her palm.

“That’s nasty, Jon.” She says with a grimace while wiping her hand on her jeans.

“Got the job done though, right?” He says, a boyish grin turning his face lighter – less marked by burdens.

She continues on their short walk. They agreed to take a break for an hour, and decided the day was too nice not to have a short walk around the park. Jon was spending his break over at the Starks, but they both agreed that it was wise to keep studying no matter how tempting it was to laze around. He gestures to a vacant bench, and she checks to see that they still have fifteen minutes left before they both have to return to their books and note taking.

“Where do you think we’ll be, ten years from now?” Sansa asks quietly that Jon thought it might have been his imagination that spoke up.

“Well, I’m hoping to make detective by then, but who knows. I could still just be a beat cop patrolling traffic and keeping drunk idiots from causing more trouble.” He says it so nonchalantly that if Sansa hadn’t known him any better, she’d think he was so completely _chill_ about everything. But she hears what he doesn’t say – _God, I hope I become detective and put bad guys behind bars._ “I bet you would be working as chief resident in ten years.” Jon flicks her braid a little when she says this, and receives a swatting on his hand from her for it.

“Hm, we’ll see. I just want to help people. Whether in a big hospital or a small clinic, I just want to make sure that I can do what I can to make them healthy.” She sets her empty yogurt cup aside, and drums her fingers on the bench’s metal arm. She’s not obnoxious about it, but Sansa has always been ambitious, always wanting and working towards being the best. It annoyed the heck out of Arya when they were younger, competitive children as they were. But her sister could never really hate her for it because Sansa, as with everything else she does, was just a graceful winner.

“I’m sure you’ll be great San. You genuinely care for people.” He turns his body slightly, so that he was leaning against the corner of the bench and his left leg half propped on the bench, his foot on top of his right leg. “And that’s more than what half the doctors in the city can claim.” Sansa looks to smile at him then.

“I bet ABBA would still suck in ten years though.”

“Hey! You don’t need to disparage ABBA’s great name!”

.

.

.

Jon pauses before entering the morgue. Sam was supposed to go and meet with Sansa, but he and Tormund found a new lead they wanted to follow. Jon _technically_ has no reason to be anxious, but he just wasn’t sure how to be around her when it’s just them in the room.

_“What’s the big deal,” Sam asks him, amused that he’s been trying to trade places with him for the past twenty minutes. “I thought you guys knew each other? Why are you so tense about working with her?” Jon musses up his hair in agitation. “First of all, I am very chill about this.” He looks at Sam and gives an okay sign that fools no one. “And second, I know! But we haven’t seen each other in almost a decade and I’m afraid of the awkwardness.”_

_Sam puts on his jacket, places his gun in his holster, and makes sure to have his pen and notepad on his body. He gives a small,_ hm _, shrugs, says nothing and heads for the elevators. “Wha –? What was that for?” Jon exclaims. Sam gives him a deadpan look, “You’re right._ So _chill.” He waves his hand over Jon, “Clearly, you’re not being completely honest with me or yourself.” His kind eyes soften at Jon’s distress. “Relax, Jon. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten how to be a friend, or at least professional.” Sam’s round face gives a smile before getting inside the elevator._

Jon sees Sansa scribbling on her clipboard, and recording her observations of the victim that got called in that morning. She looks up at him, and he curses quietly when she catches him staring at her. _Time to face the music, Snow_.

He pushes the door and walks over to the middle table. “Hey, any updates?”

“Our John Doe has two puncture wounds, both hitting the carotid arteries. They’re pretty precise too.” He steps closer to lean over the victim’s neck and sees what she means. He sees the jagged but clean puncture holes on the poor guy’s neck. She sees his brow furrowed over the position of the wounds, one on each side of the neck, but very much aligned with each other. “Is that normal?” Jon points to the distance and symmetry of the holes to each other.

“No, I found that odd too. Most people hitting these arteries would do so in a slash across the neck. But whoever the killer is has a precise knowledge of where the arteries would be and hit them straight on.” She uses her gloved pinky to prove her point. “It’s quite fascinating, really.”

Jon snorts. “Of course you would find that interesting.” Sansa releases a puff of air, and covers it behind a cough.

And just like that, it’s as if eight years apart with no contact didn’t weigh down on them. The awkward ice was evidently broken.

His smile is starting to wane when he starts apologizing to her. “Jon, stop. It isn’t your fault.” Sansa puts down her clipboard and walks over to his side. When she reaches him, she puts her hand on his arm. “Life happened. You tried to be there for us after Robb’s accident, but we don’t blame you for leaving when Lyanna was in the hospital. She needed you, we understood.” Jon’s mom had stage 4 breast cancer. She got better for a bit, but ultimately, it won over her. The Starks attended the simple funeral he organized. He was twenty-four when she died.

“Still, I could have put more effort into remaining a part of your lives.” He places his own hand on top of hers still holding onto him.

“Same goes for us, we could’ve kept in touch more after the funeral.” She rubs small circles over his shirt with her thumb. She looks at him with compassionate eyes, blue and clear like a cloudless sky. “Life just happens.”

Jon looks at her and, with the ease of that twenty-two year old boy from the park, kisses her cheek.

.

.

.

There were shouts coming from the living room, when Sansa comes home for summer break. She’s loved attending Dartmouth; has enjoyed meeting new people – her roommate, her classmates, the boys. But still, Portland was home.

“Hello? Robb is that you?” Sansa drops her keys in the bowl and leaves her duffel bag by the staircase before she toes her sneakers off. “Yeah, San. Living room!” she makes a detour first in the kitchen to grab a can of soda before following her twin’s voice just in time to see him throw one of the pillows at, Sansa assumes, his friend.

“Robb, it’s rude to throw things at other people’s face.” Sansa’s chiding announces her presence in the room. “It’s not rude if he deserves it.” Identical blue eyes stares at her. “Stop giving me the puppy eyes Robb, you know it doesn’t work on me.” She rolls her eyes as she says this but a smile tugs on her lips.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, this is Jon.” Jon is a curly haired boy that has a better pout than her brother has ever managed to achieve. His glasses are skewed thanks to the thrown pillow, but his eyes are kind and full of humor. “And does Jon know you’re a sore loser when it comes to video games?” She places her soda on the coffee table, and nudges her brother’s legs off with a socked foot so she could have more space on the couch.

Jon snorts out a laugh at Robb’s indignant cry. “I do actually. Saw it first hand back in first year.” Robb’s protest gets louder over what he claims is a grave betrayal of trust from his friend. “That was one time okay! Besides, I’m still convinced Theon rigged that game!”

While her brother was still crying foul over a game that happened a year ago, Sansa and Jon appraised each other. She wouldn’t exactly call what they did as _checking each other out_ , but she wouldn’t say that it was completely inaccurate either.

“So how’d you two meet?”

“Oh, he sat with me in the cafeteria and told me that I looked lonely. We shared about our mutual love for tuna macaroni salad and he hasn’t left my side ever since.” Jon says rubbing the back of his neck as he reaches for his own drink. Sansa nods her agreement. “That actually sounds like something he would say and do.” Most people had the misconception that just because Robb and Sansa were twins, both had a natural way with befriending strangers. But where Robb is a natural extrovert, Sansa adjusts to her environment. If it were completely up to her, she would happily spend any and all free time she has doing things by her lonesome. Much more peaceful that way.

“Hey, stop making me out to be the one who pined after you Snow. You were just as appreciative of my friendship when I covered for you in Thorne’s class.” Robb says while placing down his controllers, the game obviously interrupted now.

“Okay well, Thorne is an ass. And also, stop making it sound like a relationship, Stark.”

Sansa looks back and forth at them, and raises an eyebrow at their banter. “I mean, you guys already sound like you’re married.” She almost laughs at the incredulous looks they give her. “Are you sure there’s not something you want to get off your chest, Robb?” she teases.

“We are not a couple!”

“I don’t swing that way!” She loses it at the simultaneous cries of protest. “Not that there’s anything wrong with being gay, more power, you know? I’m just saying, I’m not.” Jon cries, completely flustered with the turn the conversation took.

“At ease, Jonathan. Geez.” Robb scoffs at him.

Sansa takes in everything and swears she hasn’t laughed so much in years.

.

.

.

They were in the middle of trying to solve a case (a nanny was stabbed to death, both the body left in the bathtub and the apartment were wiped clean of any prints or blood splatter) when he blurts out something that’s been bugging him since she became their medical examiner.

“So what changed and got you working as an ME, San?” Sansa puts the dropper she was holding down, removes her goggles and then looks at him, but doesn’t say anything yet. “Just that I remember how passionate you were with wanting to help people, to treat them and making them healthy.” He was rambling, she knows his rambling. “I was just curious. But you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.” He trailed off lamely.

Sansa takes off her gloves and walks over to her laptop. She spends a few minutes typing before she stops and starts talking. “It was really competitive in med school. It was stressful, but I enjoyed it you know?” She turns to face him and leans against the table. “But it was lonely too, it was very much an ‘each man for himself’ environment.” Jon sees that she’s trying to filter her words, thinking of what she should tell him. That she’s trying to figure out to say gives Jon a bad feeling.

“So when this guy, Joffrey, showed interest in me, I jumped at the opportunity to have that companionship again. Of course, it was to his advantage that I found him attractive. He knew just when to turn the charm on.” She puts a hand to her forehead, like she’s trying to keep the memories from getting out. “Looking back, I can’t believe I allowed him to do what he did to me for as long as he did.”

“W-what,” he clears his throat, “what did he do to you Sansa?” His voice was hoarse, his heart racing.

“At first it was just the words that he used on me.” She starts pacing now. “When he becomes irate, he starts insulting me, blaming me for his failures, calling me a stupid bitch.” She pauses, then scrunches her eyes close as if retelling the story would cause him to materialize. “Then his grip on my arm started to tighten, enough that he would leave bruises.” She waves her hand over her right bicep, indicating the area of that first one. “I actually thought then that I was lucky that it was just a tightened grip. ‘At least it wasn’t a slap, Sansa.’” She stares at him, then, “He was smart. He never hit me where people might see. Wanted to ‘keep me pretty’, he said.”

Jon blindly hits the tabletop, the clattering of instruments and the dull throb on his knuckles tell him he must’ve hit glass and broken it. Sansa walks to grab a towel to put under water before going to him and clean his wound. “I felt like I was jolted from a dream, like in Inception, you know? And that the scalpel he threatened me with was my token.” She tells him that they were both studying to become surgeons, but she was faring better than him in class that it pissed him off enough to put a scalpel near her throat. “I made the necessary changes to transfer to Northwestern the next day.” Sansa dabs some iodine over the cuts.

“Didn’t your family ask you why you wanted to move all of a sudden?” She nods. “They did. I told mom and dad that there was another school that offered a better program.” Jon noticed that she was still holding his hand even after she finishes with his cuts, and tracing tiny patterns over his skin. “Robb sensed something was wrong, but I couldn’t tell him about it. I knew he was going to go ballistic and at that time I just wanted to put it behind me.” She puts his hand back down, slowly, reluctantly.

“Arya could tell I wasn’t being forthright about it too, and was incessant about finding the truth.” Sansa pauses and lowers her voice when some of her lab technicians came back from their lunch break. She motions for him to follow her to her office, and closes the door behind him. “When I told her everything, she was livid. I begged Arya to not do anything. To just let it go.” Her lips turn up a bit in a smile. “If the situation was less grim, I’d have teased her for caring about me.” Jon smiles at this too. “You guys grated on each other’s nerves, but she cared for you. That much has always been clear.” Sansa looks at him and seems to have appreciated his words. But Jon can see that even retelling the story is taxing on her.

“So you sought after the dead when the living was being an ass?”

Sansa’s response gets Jon to laugh bitterly, a twist on what he said years ago at his mom’s funeral. “Hey, at least the dead can’t hurt you.”

.

.

.

 It was a lovely spring day – the kind where the sun’s high and it casts everything in a new light. But also the kind where you can still wear a light jacket and not look like a douche.

Jon, with the Starks that came to support him, was burying Lyanna on this day.

There’s this cliché where people who’ve suffered a loss get mad that they’re burying their dead on such fine weather, as if it’s the atmosphere’s fault for not being a good reflection of the living’s emotions. Jon didn’t care for this. What does it matter that the brightness of the day is a poor imitation of how distraught he feels over losing his mother? It’s such an insignificant thing to even think about. _(You’ll always be my brave boy –)_

Death doesn’t give a shit about the kind of day people lay their dead to rest.

It just took what it wanted.

The ceremony was simple. Neither Jon nor Lyanna subscribed to any religion, but he remembers his mother mentioning growing up in a Methodist church. So Jon asks a minister to conduct a short service for her sake. He doesn’t really think that Lyanna would care much for it, but it gave Jon something to do, a box to be ticked off a list. He did so he wouldn’t have to _be_.

He feels Sansa’s hands in his own before he acknowledges her. “Is there anything I can do for you, Jon?” Her voice was nearly a whisper; a soft, quiet little sound that affected him more than the choir’s singing or the minister’s words. Jon moves to face her, and he pleads to whoever who will listen that just one glance at Sansa would help ease the heavy, pressing weight of his mother’s death – the grief that nearly suffocates. ( _You’ve always been so good to me Jon, my brave –_ ) He hasn’t been able to process any of it, has pushed it away every time he felt like the pain was about to devour him.

When he feels like he can talk without the tightness in his throat, he gets distracted by a man in a tailored suit walking towards their direction. Jon sees the platinum head of hair and he tenses.

“Son”

“Rhaegar.”

One would be hard pressed to look for evidence of Rhaegar’s paternity in Jon’s features, but at that moment, it dawns on Sansa just where Jon got his somberness from. Looking at the older man before them, Sansa thought that there was a sad kind of beauty to him. His eyes could probably gleam like gems when amused, but they looked as if the light was snuffed out from them. Sansa knew that despite all his faults, Rhaegar cared for Lyanna.

“What are you doing here?” Jon asks, there was a slight tremble in his voice. Sansa can only say a silent prayer of gratitude that Arya saw what was happening and convinced their family to go ahead before joining the two of them. “I wanted to pay my respects.” Evidently, this was the wrong thing to say. Jon scoffs, “A bit late for that don’t you think?”

Sansa has never seen Jon intentionally rude, and she worries that he’s not seeing the olive branch that was being extended to him. She can see that he was gearing up to say something more – more cutting? She’s not certain except for the pain that Jon is in and the palpable desire to hurt something in retaliation. She closes her hand on his bicep at the same time that Arya clamps her hand on his suit jacket. “Just breathe.” Sansa hears her sister whisper.

Jon nods his head and takes a deep breath. “You could have visited her in the hospital. You had plenty of opportunity to reach out then,” Jon’s eyes are steel as he stares at his father. “You really have shit timing, Rhaegar.”

Sansa sees his shoulders droop. “I knew my presence, her seeing me, would have only upset her.” Jon looked like he wanted to argue, but decided against it.

“Well, you can’t hurt the dead now.”

.

.

.

She’s in a Skype conference call with her siblings (well, just Robb and Arya – Bran and Rickon were already in school) when Jon drops by her place that morning. He places her tea latte on the island next to her laptop when Sansa groans in frustration.

Jon raises an eyebrow at her before he moves around to the other side of the island to look at the other Starks. “What’s wrong?”

“Hey Jon, will you please tell my twin that she is a lovely woman and that Willas Tyrell would be lucky to date her?”

“Or you could warn the poor guy that Sansa can get prissy when things aren’t done _just so_. Honestly, someone needs to warn him.”

Jon vaguely registers Robb’s cough-covered chuckle at Arya’s snipe, not after hearing the words ‘date’ and ‘Sansa’ in the same conversation. The woman in question has her face hidden in her arms. He notices that she’s still in her work out clothes, which should’ve told Jon that something was up. Sansa Stark is nothing if not unfailingly prompt – and it was already half past eight in the morning.

“Stop,” she groans again and lifts her head to face her siblings. “I’m glad you find this amusing Arya,” Sansa starts (“Well it kind of is –!”), “but you both know I don’t have a good track record when it comes to dating.” Here, she stares pointedly at her sister. “Yeah it never made sense why you always attracted the creeps and assholes.” Robb quips at her.

“Honestly, why did I think you both would be helpful?” Sansa mutters as she rubs her temples. She doesn’t really have a headache but it gives her hands something to do, instead of wrapping it around her brother’s neck like she wants to at the moment. “Wait, is this the same Willas we interviewed a week ago? The history professor?” Jon asks taking a sip of his own coffee. He feels a twinge of _something_ at Sansa, and date, and Willas, which he pushes aside, unwilling to deal with it yet.

“Oh, yeah.” Sansa replies shyly. She fiddles with her cup of chai tea latte before drinking it. “We just kind of hit it off? We talked so much about history and literature that one time, and he was very kind.” She looks to Arya then. “He was very patient.” The younger Stark’s lips lifted. “Just be yourself, Sansypants. You said he’s taking you to the museum?”

Jon sees Sansa’s eyes light up, her demeanor turning from tensed to relax. “Yeah, he’s bringing me to see the display on medieval artifacts!” She turns to him then, and despite whatever it is that Jon was feeling, he finds himself smiling back at her. He’s always been a sucker for happy Sansa; the brightness in her face, the slight crinkling of her nose, the glint in her eyes.

“You’re going to charm his socks off, San.” Robb says from the screen. “Look, I have to go get ready for work, but don’t sweat it San, really. You’ll be fine.” He gives off a little wave to her and then to Jon. “Yeah, I gotta get to practice too. My fencing competition’s in a few weeks. Bye San, bye Jon” Arya gives her own wave. “Okay, thanks guys. I love you both.” Sansa blows them a kiss before ending the call.

“So,” he says, a slight lifting of his brows.

“So,” she matches him, arms crossing over her chest.

“You should bring him by at the bar later, introduce him to the rest of the team.” Jon doesn’t know what possesses him to say it, but he wants to see for himself if this guy is as good as she says he is. (He and Tormund interviewed him and they both thought him an upstanding guy. Still, this is Sansa.) “We could do that, but you guys have already met him.” Sansa replies, amusement coloring her voice.

“Yeah, but this is different.” Jon starts. “You’re going on a date with him.” He fake swoons, teasing her, and it earns him a shove from her. “Fine, I’ll bring him by later. But any teasing word from you about him, and I’ll let lose that you’re the biggest ABBA fan in the country.” She turns then heading towards her room to get changed.

“This is hardly a threat, I’m proud to be an ABBA fanatic!”

“You’re probably the only one fan left in the country!”

Jon moves towards the sound of her voice, knocks at her door and enters when she gives her permission. “First of, rude. And second, I bet Mormont’s into their music too.”

She stands in her room in a pale yellow wrap dress, tossing her hair over her shoulder. She steps into her heels and grabs her bag. It’s not the fanciest dress Jon has seen her in, but he stands speechless all the same.

She moves to face him then. “Just promise me you’ll give him a chance?”

And as much as Jon is a sucker for happy Sansa, he’s also a sucker for Sansa asking things from him nicely. He grudgingly agrees and the kiss on the cheek he gets is almost worth the twinge of that _something_ increasing.

 

They were at the bar after work, and Sansa and Willas just dropped by after spending a few hours in the museum. And despite being determined to find some fault in the academic, Jon genuinely likes the guy. He doesn’t let his limp get in the way of being the perfect gentleman to Sansa – he pulls her seat for her, places his hand at her back when she stands. Jon sees wonder in the man’s eyes, and really, isn’t that what Sansa deserves?

He feels a nudge on his shoulder that makes him look away from the couple in front of him. “That could’ve been you with her.” Tormund’s gruff voice sounds beside him. “Yeah, well, I’m just happy she’s happy.” The other detective scoffs at him then. “And you’re pining.” He grabs his beer and heads back to where the rest of the team were, nudging Sam to scoot.

.

.

.

It was June and Jon has spent all of the previous semester gathering the courage to ask Sansa out when he spends the break over at the Starks. He was in the car with Robb about to pull over when he sees a guy walking her to their door. A tall, buff, blonde guy with a smile fit for the magazine and dimples that Jon would bet makes girls _faint_.

“Hey,” Jon asks Robb as they both get out of the car. “Who’s that?” Jon points to the two ahead of them and sees Sansa tucking her hair behind her ear and fiddling with the ends of it. For all that Jon is trying to keep his chill, his left hand balls into a fist. And if he slams the door a little too loudly, who’s to say the wind and general momentum didn’t help?

Robb squints his eyes at where Jon was pointing. “Oh just another one of Sansa’s suitors. I think he said his name is Harry?” He locks the car doors, waits for Jon to come around to his side before they walk back to the house. Jon doesn’t even need to hear the guy speak before concluding that he doesn’t like him. And it’s not just because he’s jealous, something about this Harry doesn’t sit well with him. He’s too _polished_ to be real – he flicks his hair just the right amount, his teeth are too perfect, but Jon sees barely concealed lust in Harry’s eyes. Jon bets those eyes are prone to wandering too.

They all go inside for some lemonade after Sansa introduces everyone to each other. (Jon grunted and shook Harry’s hand none too gently.) They chat, well the three of them do: Sansa, Harry, and Robb. Jon sat quietly and observed.

When Harry gets up to leave, Jon excuses himself and asks Robb for his keys. “Where are you going?” Robb reaches for his keys and hands it to him. “I just wanted to go get some stuff from the store.” His friend squints his eyes at him in obvious disbelief. “Just be safe. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Jon waves his hand in acknowledgement and steps out of the house.

To be honest, besides following Harry in Robb’s car, Jon doesn’t really have a plan. But fortunately for him, Harry is as oblivious as he is handsome (he really is just a pretty face), because Jon follows him to a café where he meets up with a busty girl. When Harry leads the girl back to his car, Jon sits up straight and follows him.

He followed him all the way to a nearby forest where young couples and families hike on weekends. And unless he’s about to witness a murder, Jon has a sinking feeling about what he’s about to see.

His suspicions are confirmed when Jon notices that the car Harry and the girl are in starts moving. Very rhythmically.

He’s about to drive away when the car stops moving sideways and starts up. “Ah what the hell. Might as well see this through.”

Jon ends up regretting saying those words to himself.

 

Three women!

_Three!_

Harry the charmer hooked up with three women in an afternoon. It could’ve been more but the sun was starting to go down and he needed to return Robb’s car. He was still shaking his head when he goes inside the Stark’s house. He jumps a little when Sansa calls his name.

“Uh, hey. What’s up?” He drops the keys in the foyer table and looks at her. _Damn, that ass doesn’t deserve her._

“Are you okay?” Sansa asks him, she has a small confused smile on her face.

Jon runs his hand through his hair, trying to gather his wits. Because on one hand, Sansa needs to know. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to see her hurt or disappointed. So he goes for, “Hey, did you get a nympho vibe from Harry? Because I did. Not like a gigolo or anything, but like the type that humps anything that moves in a short skirt and high heels vibe.”

Jon Snow really did have a way with words.

“Well,” Sansa is definitely confused now. “Um,” she continues to stare at him. “I think I’ll just go to my room. Robb’s in the living room.” She makes to turn, but stares at him some more, before going up the stairs. He hears her mutter “gigolo” bewilderedly before he hears her door shut.

So he doesn’t say anything else because shit, he sucks at words. But when Robb casually tells him that Harry and Sansa never did go on that date, he tries his best not to let out the ‘whoop’ that’s bubbling in his chest. Instead, he clears his throat and settles for a concerned ‘what happened’ instead.

“Well, he shows up at our door and Sansa opens it for him. But Sansa, girl has got eagle eyes, I tell you.” Robb cackles a little. “She sees a hickey, a small one, fading one too. So she opens her purse, gives him her concealer, and tells him, ‘You missed a spot’. Then soundly shuts the door in his face!”

Jon couldn’t help but laugh then. “Apparently, someone implied that Harry might or might not be a gigolo and she’s been wary ever since.”

“Oh, I wonder who said those to her.” He says before he sips on his beer. Jon and Robb share a look and smirk simultaneously before talking about the latest video game.

.

.

.

They were wrapping up a case when Sansa walks over to Jon and asks if he wanted to watch the new Marvel movie at her place. (She wasn’t able to watch it in the cinema so she waited for it be available in iTunes to buy it. Sansa Stark does _not_ watch bootleg movies.) “Sorry San, I can’t.” Jon turns off his monitor and looks at her apologetically. “Another time?” He asks her as he puts on his jacket.

“Sure, no problem.” Sansa trails off then takes a second to look at him. “Did you trim your beard?” Her eyes wide, and a fake gasp. “Are you wearing perfume??” Sansa’s eyes are bright, like she just got the final pair of Jimmy Choos that perfectly fit her. “Jon Snow are you going on a date??” Her tone certainly caught the attention of the rest of bull pen now, even Sam was hiding his snickers.

“Little louder San, don’t think the other precinct heard you.” But Jon was blushing despite the unamused look he’s given her. “And third date actually.” He mutters to his chest.

She apologizes by fixing the collar of his shirt and straightening his tie. “There, you look halfway decent now.” Sansa looks up at him, and why has she never noticed how long his lashes were before? She steps back from him and leans her hip against his desk to look at him. “What?” Jon feels her scrutinizing him.

“Well who is she?” Sansa places his pens in their holder and stacks his folders neatly while waiting for his answer. He was about to answer when Tormund comes in and sees him. “Well look at here. Looks like Snow’s finally going to make use of his pecker tonight!” He walks over to Jon, slaps the folders he was holding on Jon’s shoulder and says loudly, “Make us proud tonight, eh, Jonny boy?”

Sansa coughs out a laugh from Tormund’s comments and sees that Jon looks like he wants the earth to swallow him whole. “So, what’s her name?” Sansa asks to redirect the attention away from Jon’s package.

“Ygritte. From the fire department.” Jon says right away lest Tormund opens his mouth again. “Did you get her flowers, Jon?” Sam asks from behind his desk. “Uh, no. She doesn’t really seem like the flowers type.” Jon scratches the back of neck, his discomfort over being the topic of conversation evident. “Nonsense, all girls want to be charmed with flowers Jon.” Sansa insists. “Maybe not a bouquet, but I’m sure she’ll appreciate at least a few stems of lilies?”

Jon looks at her fondly. “Trust me San, she’s not the flower type.”

“Well did you at least bring better shoes?” Sansa asks him. Jon looks down at his feet, “What’s wrong with my shoes?” He looks so puzzled that it was Sansa’s turn to look at him fondly. “Well, they’re all scuffed and they don’t match your belt.” She raises her hand to point at his waist, but decided against it. His waist is close to his crotch, and they’ve just successfully avoided the topic of his dick.

“But I didn’t bring any other pair.” Jon says dejectedly. “Detective Tarly,” Sam sits up straight right away when Sansa calls him. “May I see your footwear?” As if in a trance, Sam moves away from his desk and stands beside it. Sansa’s eyes light up when she sees that the rotund detective’s shoes would suit Jon’s outfit well. “Would you be kind enough to trade shoes with Jon?” She asks nicely, with just a touch of a smile.

Sam is a happily married man, but even he’s not impervious to Sansa Stark’s charms.

He starts taking off his shoes when Jon suddenly makes a sound. “How do you even know his shoes will fit me?” Sansa turns back to look at him and eyes him from head to toe, then does the same with Sam. “You’re both around the same height. I read in a journal that there’s a correlation between a person’s height and their shoe size. A person’s height is about six and a half times the length of one’s feet.” She ends her mini lecture with a flourish of her hand.

Jon stares at her for a few seconds before he tugs her hair. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Excuse you!” Sansa exclaims. “This nerd is trying to get you laid!” She says the last part in a whisper – which she does in the same effectiveness as Jon’s winks; that is to say, not effective at all.

The two detectives switch footwear and Sam’s surprised “It fits!” sounds the same time as the ding of the elevator. When Sansa looks to the direction of the elevator, she sees a woman in a motorcycle jacket, fair skin, and red hair messily knotted on her head. _Jon’s right,_ Sansa thinks, _she isn’t the flower type_.

She doesn’t know why, but all of a sudden Sansa gets this sinking feeling in her stomach. “That’s her isn’t it?” She whispers to Jon. When she doesn’t get a reply, Sansa moves to poke Jon on his side when she gets a look at his face. His eyes are glued on this girl as she walks towards them. There’s a smile that seems to grow as she walks closer to them. He looks halfway in love with her already, and they haven’t even been seeing each other that long. Sansa feels like the air has been knocked out of her. Which doesn’t make sense because she’s placed a stopper on her feelings for Jon Snow near a decade ago.

Jon finally introduces his date when she stops in front of them. “Ygritte, this is one of my best friends, Dr. Sansa Stark.” Blue-grey eyes meet blue ones, and Sansa extends her hand for a shake. “Hi I’m Sansa. It’s nice to meet you.” If her smile becomes a little tight, no one says anything.

“You too,” Ygritte rasps, her voice naturally hoarse. _Like it’s meant for the bedroom, screaming Jon’s name in plea–_ , Sansa cuts her train of thought then. “Jon talks about you a lot. He does it so often I feel like I know you already.” The way she says it wasn’t cutting, but neither was it very kind. It was said very knowingly, like there’s something she knows that Sansa doesn’t and is being a little smug about it.

“Well you both should go.” Sansa says, glancing back at Jon

“Alright, well see you later San. Thanks for you know.” He gestures vaguely at his feet. “Don’t worry about it.” She nods to him. “Enjoy yourselves.”

“Yeah Snow! Enjoy yourself!” Tormund shots at him, complete with the lascivious wagging of his eyebrows.

Sansa joins in on the laughter, but she can’t help but feel that it’s the fakest one she’s given.

.

.

.

Sansa was in the middle of folding her laundry when Robb calls her. Jeyne was out on a date, and as much as Sansa loves her friend and roommate, getting to do her chores in peace was appreciated.

“Hey Robb, what’s up?” She puts him on speaker so she still has both hands to finish putting away her clothes. They talk about nothing and everything; his classes, her friends, the girl he’s seeing lately, and the boy she thinks is cute. Sansa is grateful that she has a good relationship with her siblings – even her relationship with Arya has gotten better. The distance from each other had helped them mature. They both eventually learned that there’s kindness in restraint.

“It’s awfully quiet there, Robb. No Jon and Theon?” She’s just put away her clothes in her closet when she finally notices that aside from Robb’s voice, there wasn’t any other sound coming from his end. “Theon’s probably in a bar trying to hook up with girls.” She snorts at Robb’s tone. She can practically hear the rolling of his eyes through the line. “And Jon’s on a date.”

Her eyes widen in gleeful excitement. “Our Jon?” She goes out back to the living room and tucks herself in her favorite spot with the blanket wrapped around her. She hears Robb groan faintly. “Yes, I am both happy and mildly nauseated about.” She _tsks_ at her brother’s attitude. “Come on Robb, you can stand to be more enthusiastic about it. That’s your best friend!”

“Oh, I think he’s enthusiastic enough without mine to add to it.” He grumbles.

“You don’t mean—“

“Oh yeah. I’ll be surprised if the stoners from down the hall didn’t hear her last night.” Sansa squeaked her surprise. “That’s intense.”

“You’ve no idea, San. I ended up playing Third Eye Blind songs just to drown out the noise.”

Sansa feels her cheeks heat, especially when Robb seeming to think out loud says: “I’d understand if there was a steady creak coming from Jon’s bed, I mean there was but that came later. Mostly she was just moaning really loudly, you know?” Sansa feels herself sink into her position in the couch, her heart pounding.

“I mean I think the girl really appreciated Jon’s mouth or fingers because that took a while.”

“Robb! Oh my God!”

He hears her brother laugh, the bastard.

Sansa wouldn’t consider herself a prude, having a healthy appreciation for sex herself. But it’s different hearing about someone she knows and their, um, skills. Now her mind is picturing Jon on his knees with a girl at the edge of the bed, her back arching, hand clutching at his curls, Sansa’s blue eyes staring at his dark grey ones, his mouth obscenely wet –

Sansa screws her eyes shut and shakes her head to dispel the images, crosses her legs _tightly_ for good measure. She takes a fortifying breath before she feels ready to continue the conversation with her brother.

“Well, kudos to Jon for getting out there –“

“For getting some, you mean” Robb interrupts her, and she barely contains the protest that wanted to escape from her. “Alright, alright. I’m going to end this call now and attempt to forget that the last part of our conversation happened.” She hangs up when Robb says his goodbyes.

 

Sansa’s tired when she wakes up the next day. She couldn’t get enough sleep, even in her dreams, she felt dark grey eyes rake over her body. She starts thinking about his smile too, the way he can make her laugh when they’re together, how he would text her every now and then, the way he hugged her, his rough hand grazing her cheek when he wiped sauce off her face.

“Shit. I think I like Jon.”

.

.

.

Sansa was just supposed to be out for an hour, an hour and a half tops. She wanted to go back to the crime scene and check if the ring Willas gave her fell in the dumpster where they found their stab victim. They weren’t together anymore, with him moving to another city, but they parted on good enough terms that she doesn’t feel bad wearing the piece he has given her. She releases a triumphant ‘yes’ when she finds it only to be held at gunpoint when she steps out of the dumpster.

“You’re coming with me Dr. Stark.”

Sansa recognizes the voice and the faint wheezing as Dontos Hollard, their victim’s next door neighbor. They didn’t find enough to pin on him so they let him go. But Jon had a bad feeling about him, so with Mormont’s approval, he had Hollard put under surveillance.

“We’re going to get into your car, you’ll drive us to an abandoned warehouse, and you’ll make a call to Detective Snow to back off.”

She nods her head slowly, afraid that any sudden movements from her would trigger more violence from him. When they get to her car, Sansa reaches into her bag. “What are you doing?” Hollard’s bark startles her into looking him in the face. His eyes are squinted suspiciously at her, the gun still aimed at her face. “Just reaching to get my keys.” She quickly and discretely calls Jon’s cell, grateful that he’s on speed dial, before she shows Hollard her keys. She releases a shaky breath and puts her purse on the floor of her seat.

 

When Jon’s phone vibrates, he’s in the middle of a coffee date with Ygritte. Seeing Sansa’s name on his screen, and checking to see that his date was still in the ladies’ room – he’s had to be cautious when answering Sansa’s calls or texts when he’s with Ygritte – he picks up.

“—make a left here.” Jon freezes when he recognizes Hollard’s voice.

He squeezes his phone between his ears and shoulders to reach for his wallet. He’s about to drop the money on the table when Ygritte comes back. She looks at the money in his hands and the phone in his ear. She doesn’t need to take a wild guess for her to know what’s gotten him to move so urgently. “I don’t need to know your reason. But this is the last time you’ll be doing this to me, Jon Snow. I won’t play second fiddle anymore.”

Jon looks at her, his eyes conflicted, because he honestly likes this girl and is hesitant to leave her. But he’s also just about done lying to himself that Sansa won’t always come first.

“I’m so sorry Ygritte.” He’s so apologetic, so sincere, Ygritte almost softens.

“Leave now, Snow. Before I break your pretty nose.”

Jon apologizes again before he dashes out of the café and into his car. He radios back to headquarters and starts driving. “Hey Sam, I need you to track the GPS in Sansa’s phone.” The kindly detective is concerned by the request and the near panic in Jon’s voice. “Okay, doing it now. Mind telling us what’s wrong?”

He turns on the siren in his car and presses on his horn aggressively when the cars won’t get out of his way. “Sansa’s in trouble. Hollard’s got her.” Sam sucks in a breath of surprise but Jon hears the clicking of keys and knows that his friend is now just as determined to get this guy. “Okay, I’m syncing the GPS signal to your car’s system. I’m going to call back up for you too.” Jon grunts and makes a note to thank Sam later when they get Sansa safely. “Stay safe Jon, we’ll be with you shortly.” Jon distractedly puts the radio back into its holder and focuses on getting to Sansa as soon as possible.

He’s got her on speaker when he hears her speak. “Is that where you killed her Mr. Hollard? In the warehouse by the harbor?” Jon is still tracking Sansa’s GPS signal, but he’s grateful that he’s getting bits of clues from her. “That’s good sweetheart. I need some more info so I can narrow down the search.” Jon mutters to himself. “You’ll just have to see won’t you?” Jon grips the steering wheel tighter, wishing it was that bastard’s arm he was twisting.

He hears her cough. “What, your nose too sensitive for the smell?” Jon can practically hear the sneer in his voice despite the wheezing and the slurring of his words. “I’m afraid it’s just a little too fishy for me.” There’s only one warehouse by the fishing harbor in the city, and Jon immediately knows where to go to find them both.

Around a mile before he gets to the warehouse, Jon shuts off his siren lest he spooks Hollard into changing his and Sansa’s location.

He parks his car on the curb. Jon sees that warehouse is actually an old abandoned canned good factory, and that Sansa’s car is parked parallel to its entrance. He ends the call, and closes his car door quietly. When he hears the faint sounds of police sirens, he makes his move towards the two of them.

“I’ll need you to drop your weapon Mr. Hollard. Let Dr. Stark go, you don’t need her.”

Jon’s voice startles Hollard into putting Sansa into a headlock and points his gun to her head. His reflexes makes him pull out his own gun and point it at Hollard. “Put your gun down Mr. Hollard and let Dr. Stark go.” Jon can hear the stiffness in his own voice, his finger itching to pull the trigger.

“I’d rather not, Detective. Dr. Stark here is my leverage, and I’m feeling a little demanding.” His words are threatening but Jon can hear the reluctance in his voice, the uncertainty. “You and I can still talk, I just need you to let her go.” He’s inching slowly towards the two of them, gun steadily still pointed at him.

“You just couldn’t let it go. I know I didn’t leave any marks. I didn’t want to kill her but I had to!” Hollard is starting to sound desperate.

“My gut told me something wasn’t right with you, and it’s never failed me yet.” Jon tells him, voice calm now, eyes fixed on this almost reluctant killer.

The sound of the police sirens startles Hollard, and Jon’s heart jumps because that surprise could translate to the pulling of a trigger and a bullet straight into Sansa’s head. And yet.

“Solar plexus, instep,” Sansa starts to shout all the while hitting her targeted body parts. “Nose,” she raises her had palm up, and hits the heel of her palm to Hollard’s nose. “Groin.” Hollard’s eyes widen when he hears what Sansa has shouted and had no time to react when the city’s Chief Medical Examiner briefly pauses to say, “Sing bitch!” before she knees her captor in the crotch. She ducks and moves to the side right away.

Jon doesn’t hesitate to pull the trigger and shoots their suspect in the leg when he aims his gun at Sansa’s back. He sees Sam and Tormund move towards them, they cuff Hollard and drag him to the ambulance for medical attention before processing him.

He looks at Sansa and her wide eyes. Jon couldn’t help but start laughing at the contrast of Sansa’s reaction now compared to her brief act of heroism in saving herself moments ago. His laugh captures her attention and she walks briskly towards him. Jon reaches her in two strides and envelops her into a hug.

“You’re unbelievable you know that?” His eyes are soft on her, his hands cupping her face. “Where’d you even learn how to do that?” He brushes her hair away from her face and settles his hands on her neck, but his thumbs were rubbing circles on her jaw.

“Sandra Bullock was a great teacher you know. She really should have won that crown in Miss Congeniality.” She says lightly, as if she wasn’t just held at gunpoint, as if an armed man hadn’t just put his arms around her.

Jon looks at her, bemused, and starts laughing at what she says. When he feels her arms wrap around his waist, and feels her nose burrowed in his neck, his laughter dies down to low chuckles. “Let’s go home, Jon.” The vibration of her words sends shivers down his body. He tightens his hold on her, before nodding in agreement. He burrows his own nose into her hair and allows himself to find comfort in knowing that she’s safe, alive, and unharmed.

Jon pulls away and directs them both to where Sam and Tormund were. When the other two detectives turn to face them, Jon throws his keys at Sam. “Hey, would you mind bringing my car back to the station? I’m bringing Sansa home.” Jon smiles at Sam’s nod and rolls his eyes at Tormund’s waggling eyebrows.

He places a hand on Sansa’s back and escorts her back to her car. He faces her after he closes the car door and turns on the ignition. She looks back at him with the same look he often finds himself giving her – pure adoration. “Thank you so much, Jon.” He sees her hand move and he thought she was just going to reach over to squeeze his hand. His eyes snap to their joined hands when he feels her twine their hands together.

“I-is this okay?” She stutters out, and Jon can make out the faint flush in her cheeks. Her hands are so soft, he thinks he’ll never tire of holding them. He clasps his other hand over hers, before nodding. “More than okay.”

She smiles at him then, and his eyes nearly darken when her gaze flicks to his mouth. His eyes mimics hers, his gaze landing on hers as well. He shifts closer to her so that his forehead rests on hers, and his breath becomes hers.

“Willas?” He asks quietly, and Jon feels Sansa shake her head lightly.

“Ygritte?” She asks in return, and Jon can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips even as he shakes his head in response.

He hears her sigh when his lips touches hers in a caress. It was so soft, a simple pressing of lips together made meaningful by what they had to go through to get to this point. The mewl she makes when his tongue lightly licks her lips nearly undoes him. He pulls back slightly and the whine that comes from her makes him smile.

“Is that okay?” He mirrors her earlier question back at her.

She kisses him then heatedly. She grabs the collar of his shirt, her teeth nipping at his lower lip, her tongue sliding in his mouth sucking _lightly_. She slides her mouth over his like it belongs there, and Jon thinks that they should because it feels just _right_. When she pulls away, it’s his turn to groan.

“It’d be better if you got the both of us home.”

He doesn’t remember tangling his fingers into her hair, but he takes his hand back, kisses her on the cheek and drive them back to her apartment. Jon doesn’t believe in fate or serendipity, but he’s close to believing in it now when after years of being apart, the gods or whoever brought them together in the same precinct nearly ten months ago certainly knew what they were doing.

Jon is in love with his best friend – and he can’t wait to show her just how much for as long as she’ll have him.

Or at least prove how well he can love her, repeatedly, in her bed.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. There actually is research that shows there's a correlation between height and shoe size :)  
> 2\. I would like to credit a friend of mine for coming up with the phrase 'kindness in restraint'.  
> 3\. Would very much appreciate comments/feedback. (Just so I know how to improve next.)


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